Connected
by Sam.J.Eller
Summary: Assumptions and labels can be incredibly incorrect when you don't truly know a person; that is a lesson a teacher learns when she crosses paths with Dean Winchester and his little brother Sammy. One-shot. Weechesters/Teenchesters. Hurt/Asthmatic/Sam and Protective/Big Brother/Dean.


Note: Someone requested a fic like this forever ago, but I can't remember who...so here you are, whoever you are! My life has been a bit of a shit-show lately, so I apologize for the lack of fic updates and new fics. I'm a month behind on spn as well, so no spoilers in the comments please! - Enjoy!

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He was a bad egg.

Being a teacher for over two decades made me an expert at spotting bad eggs.

And I spotted this one immediately.

From the first moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he would cause trouble.

He sauntered into the classroom, late, on his first day and every day after.

He never took a note or opened a textbook. He just sat there in his oversized leather jacket winking at all the girls or staring up at the clock on the wall.

When the final bell rang, whether he was in the middle of flirting or I was in the middle of teaching, that boy would be booking it out of the classroom in a heartbeat. I had wanted to speak to him once about his grades, but the young man had the audacity to tell me that he didn't have the time to talk and marched right past me and out the door, as though someone his age had somewhere so tremendously significant to be.

He was the cockiest of any eighth grader I had ever encountered or had the displeasure of teaching. Some mornings the younger man would swagger in with bruises and/or cuts on his face, I had no doubt they were the evidence of some scuffle the boy had gotten into – he seemed like the type.

Yes, there was no question about it, Dean Winchester was a bad egg.

That was why I maintained a careful watch of him during the school field trip to the city zoo.

The older kids were sharing busses with the younger ones, to spread out the chaos of the smaller children. My class was paired with Ms. Kesling's first graders and Mr. Hendrick's fourth graders.

Field trips were never fun for the teachers, they were work, and stress, and one hell of a headache. I inwardly groaned as I boarded the bus, moving to the back where I could keep an eye over the older kids. I lead my class past all the giddy youngsters already seated in their seats and sat down on the bench at the very back as I watched all my students slide into their seats with their best friends of the week. All my students except for Dean, that is.

I watched the older boy as he plopped down next to one of the younger kids. The child was seated amongst Mr. Hendrick's class, but if he hadn't been I would have guessed him to be of a younger age. I watched Dean nudge the boy next to him and ruffle his hair. I stood up, planning to order the eighth grader to the back with the rest of his class, not wanting him to harass the poor kid all the way to the zoo. But one of my female students beat me to it.

"Dean! Come sit next to me!" Kendra Turner hollered out.

Kendra and Dean had been flirting with each other on a near constant basis. She was a pretty girl and her grades would make me think her to be too smart to go for such a disobedient young man, but she was also eager for attention and tried much too hard to acquire it.

I figured Dean would not pass up the chance to sit nice and close with Miss Turner, but to my surprise he simply waved her off and stayed seated next to the younger lad. The smaller boy seemed to be paying no mind, as he sat hunched in the corner of the bench, dutifully reading whatever book it was he had clasped in his hands; or doing the best he could to read with the teenager constantly poking at him.

I was seconds away from marching over and demanding that Dean leave the poor boy alone, when Mr. Hendrick's appeared in front of me.

"Hey Carol, mind if I sit with you? Turns out none of my students want me cramping their style."

I smiled and nodded in response.

There was no way around it, Mr. Hendrick's was a fine looking man. He was a few years younger than me, but recently divorced; and I would be lying if I said I hadn't entertained the possibility of the two of us becoming an item.

Allen and I sat at the back and enjoyed a pleasant adult conversation, interrupted on occasion by the need to keep some sense of order among the students; I also maintained a watchful eye on Dean Winchester. I secretly was waiting for Dean to do something worthy of detention. The teen had already experienced detention, a couple months ago when he first arrived at the school. It was discovered that he had threated a couple of sixth graders. Upon finding this out I had lectured the young man, told him how unfair it was for someone of his age and size to go picking on younger students. He had nodded in complete agreement and stated that 'now those bastards would know how it felt.' I had been at a loss for words and told Dean to watch his mouth before sentencing him to detention. He had informed me that he was unable to stay after school, to which I had told him then he could spend every recess in the detention room for the next three days. Often any student who had been giving that ultimatum would choose to stay after school one day rather than be stuck inside for three, but Dean Winchester was clearly not any other student. He had simply nodded, as if the punishment meant nothing.

The teen had shown no remorse for his actions and no distress for the punishment they elicited.

I was more than eager to get another chance at teaching the young man about consequence for his actions. For that reason, I watched him like a hawk.

At one point he snatched the book from the child's fingers, I was about to intervene when the teen let out a bark of laughter at the other boy's apparent protest, and handed the novel back.

"Who is that boy?" I finally asked Allen, pointing to the child seated next to my student.

"Oh, that's Sam Winchester."

"Winchester?"

Allen nodded.

So they were brothers, well that explained the interest Dean took in the kid, but I still disapproved of the way he was teasing him. I also failed to see much of a physical relation between the two.

Dean was tall for his age, and once in a while - when he actually shed that large leather jacket - you could also see that he was well built. He had short spikey hair and an air of confidence, or more like cockiness, about him. This kid, Sam - on the other hand - was small, the smallest in his grade by far. Even from the little I could see of him, I could tell the child had a very thin frame. His hair was long and shaggy, hanging down in front of his face, and he seemed very much like the smart but shy type.

They were truly complete opposites.

Watching the two stand once we arrived at the zoo only made me more surprised that they were related.

The younger boy was almost half the size of the older one, barely coming up to the teen's elbow. I watched Sam slide his book into his backpack – the army green bag must have been nearly as big as he was – but before he could heft it onto his shoulder, his brother snagged it from his grip and slid it over his own shoulder. Sam seemed to make a small quiet protest, though I could not hear for the life of me what he was saying, but the teen simply shook his head and ruffled his brother's hair once again.

The behavior surprised me. Dean had never once offered to carry any of the girls knapsacks - like some of the other boys had - hell, the boy never even brought a book-bag of his own to school. But he seemed more than willing to carry his brother's.

I watched as the students began to unload, seeing the brothers turn toward the aisle to make their exit, and gasping once I finally caught sight of Sam's face.

"What happened to that boy's face?" I questioned Allen, keeping my voice low so the nosier students wouldn't hear.

Allen looked to where I was staring. I hadn't been able to see the child's face as I had spent the trip seated several rows behind him and his shaggy hair kept his features hidden whenever he would turn his head. But now as he was angled to the side, I could clearly see the cut on the side of his face, disappearing up under his bangs, and the dark bruise coloring his cheekbone to his jaw.

"Sam?" Allen asked.

I nodded.

"He was rough-housing with some of his friends, apparently things got out of hand."

I raised an eyebrow at the explanation, not buying it.

"Boys will be boys." Allen shrugged.

It didn't sound right. First off this kid Sam didn't much seem like the rough-housing type. Secondly, I didn't believe he even had friends, he hadn't spoken to anyone but his brother the entire trip and I knew that Dean had just arrived in town a couple months ago, which would mean Sam did as well.

I frowned as I came to my next conclusion. Sam may not have seemed like the rough-housing type, but Dean sure as hell did. It wouldn't have surprised me if the older boy had been the one to do the damage to the younger one.

I watched as the Winchester boys exited the bus, noticed Dean's hands on his brother's shoulders as he steered the younger boy down the aisle. He seemed to be gentle enough with the kid, but perhaps that was just because he knew he was being supervised.

I scowled at the thought, but didn't have time to dwell on it as I had to usher my students off the bus.

The trip to the zoo was like every other one every year for the past two decades, chaotic and exhausting. Keeping track of all the children was always a challenge, especially when I had my eye trained on the two Winchester boys.

They never separated. Even when little Sam's bruised face would light up in excitement – damn did those kid's dimples make him all the more adorable – and he would grab his brother's sleeve and drag him from one exhibit to the next. I don't think I saw the younger boy's mouth stop moving the entire time. Every now and again I would get close enough to hear the rambling words, the kid was smart, that much was apparent, he was rattling off information about ever animal, some of which I hadn't even known. On occasion Dean would comment on something, throw in a remark about the animal's appearance or the size of its feces, which would make Sam giggle, but mostly Dean just grinned down at the small child. His smile was one I hadn't ever seen before, not when he was flirting with the girls, or after he made a witty comment during class. It was a genuine smile, one that made his eyes look squinty, one that lit up his entire expression and almost made him look completely different from the Dean I had spent the past couple months with.

When the kids all stopped for lunch, I watched as Dean sauntered past his peers, acknowledging them with a wave but turning down their invitations to join. Instead he followed his little brother to a small table in the corner of the picnic area. The children were instructed to bring their own meals or money to buy their own meals, I assumed Dean would be buying one when he showed up to school, yet again, without a book-bag. To my surprise the teen never joined the concession line, instead he sat across from his little brother and pulled a brown paper bag from Sam's knapsack.

I tried not to look like too much like a stalker as I sat at the teacher's picnic table in the center of the eating area, a good vantage point to view all the surrounding students. But fortunately all my students were old enough to not wander off or need help opening their pudding cups, so I was able to take my eyes off them for more than five minutes.

I watched as the younger boy pulled two sandwiches form the bag, setting one in front of his brother. I didn't fail to notice how quickly Dean demolished his sandwich, and how Sam seemed to only pick at his. Once the teen was finished, his brother slid his untouched half of sandwich across the table. My frown matched Dean's as he pushed the food back towards the shaggy-headed child. I couldn't hear them, but I could tell that the older brother was arguing with the younger as the proceeded to slide the half of a sandwich back and forth between them. Finally, Sam picked it up and split it in half yet again, handing the quarter to Dean and keeping one to himself. Dean didn't look pleased, saying something that I assumed exhibited that fact, but whatever Sam's reply was, it shut the teen up and had him biting into the quarter of sandwich.

I was strangely amused with the smirk I saw on the younger boy's face as his brother ate, as though he had made some sort of achievement, won a battle.

I was distracted from my observations for a moment by some bickering teens, but once I resolved their argument I turned my attention back to the brothers.

Dean was staring distractedly over at the giraffe exhibit, as Sam reached into the bag and pulled out a granola bar, I watched as he stared at it – almost wistfully—before tossing it at the teen's head.

Dean perked up picking the snack up and shaking his head as he stretched it out towards Sam. But his little brother adamantly shook his head, pulling an apple from the bag and waving it on display before taking a theatrical bite. I could practically hear Dean sigh from across the eating area before he unwrapped the snack and took a bite.

I didn't fail to notice that Dean left the last bite for his kid brother, which Sam stared wearily at for a moment before caving in and popping it into his mouth.

The entire exchange was both simplistic and incredibly telling.

I felt like I'd learned more about Dean Winchester in that half an hour of watching him eat lunch with his kid brother, than I did in two months of having him in my class.

After lunch it was time for the students to separate into their designated grades, they were all given small assignments to complete during group time – just to make something about the trip educational. Dean seemed reluctant to separate from the younger boy, but he eventually handed the backpack over, holding it out as Sam fed his arms through the straps. I nearly laughed out loud when little Sam handed a pen over to his big brother, I wondered if they kid knew just how unlikely it was that Dean would make use of the writing utensil. The older boy smiled anyways and watched as his younger brother scampered off toward his class.

Dean joined our class, shrugging off inquires as to why he was spending every minute with his brother. I didn't fail to notice how the second he returned to his peers, Dean quickly transformed into that doesn't-give-a-shit-about-anything, cocky, teenager who had been driving me mental the past couple months. He took no interest in the assignment I handed out and distracted the female students with his flirtatious behaviour and the males with his sarcastic comments.

When Dean informed me he was headed to the bathroom, I was more than happy to send him on his way, maybe my students would be able to get a fraction of work done in his absence. He hadn't been gone more than a minute when I heard someone calling for me.

"Ms. Talbot?"

I knew from the voice that it wasn't one of my students. It was soft and quiet, also a little breathy.

I looked down and found a boy with shaggy hair and the biggest most puppy-dog-like eyes staring up at me.

"Yes, Sam. What can I do for you?" I questioned.

I frowned as the younger kid looked to be panting and wheezing, as though he had just run a marathon.

"Where's Dean?" He gasped.

"He just went to the washroom."

The news seemed to distress the boy. His eyes grew impossibly wider as he looked around, staring at the public washrooms that were situated all the way across the eating area.

"But, but I need him."

I cringed at the teary eyes that seemed so lost and the painful wheezing sound coming from the child's open mouth.

"He'll be back in a minute." I assured, confused as to why the kid was panicking so.

"Need—need Dean…need him now." The young boy panted out, folding in half with his hands on his knees.

"Calm down, Sam." I ordered gently, watching in confusion as the boy fought to breathe.

I became alarmed when the child dropped down onto his knees.

"Jessica, go tell Mr. Hendrick's that Sam needs medical help." I barked, watching the teen run off, as I squatted down in front of the struggling boy.

"Sam, can you tell me what's going on?"

His eyes came up to meet mine again, tear-filled and filled with fear.

"Dean. Where's Dean?" He stuttered out.

"I told you he'll be back in a minute. Why do you need Dean? What's the matter? Talk to me, Sam." I instructed.

"Can't." He wheezed, his arms uncoordinated as he tried to slide his backpack off.

"Do you have asthma?" I questioned, seeing that as the only explanation for the youngster's current situation.

All I received was a shaky nod, but it was enough.

"Where's your inhaler?" I asked, shushing the kids that had gathered around us, always eager to see what the commotion was about.

Sam was unable to answer, his breath coming and exiting in whistles, but the clumsy fingers attempting to open his book-bag were enough of a hint.

However, when I made to reach for the bag with the intention of searching for the inhaler, Sam pulled it away.

"Sam, let me help you." I scolded, not liking how much the kid was shaking or the wretched sounds coming from his mouth as he struggled to take a breath.

He shook his head as his fingers proceeded to fumble with the buckles on his book-bag.

I was just about to force the boy to let go and ransack his backpack for his inhaler, when I was bodily shoved to the side.

I released an indignant huff and wasn't surprised to see that it was Dean Winchester who had moved me out of the way.

"Hey Sammy."

And just like that, the child I had tried so hard to calm and help, let his walls crumble and reached out with trembling fingers to his older brother.

"De." He choked out.

"Shh, enough of that." Dean scolded, although his tone held an impossibly intense fondness.

The teen cupped the younger boys face and swept his hair to the side.

"Just relax. I've got you." He assured.

His touch was astoundingly gentle, nothing like a teenage boy's, but rather a mother's.

Some of the panic faded from the large hazel eyes that were so intently trained on Dean.

Sam willingly relinquished the bag to his brother, his one hand switching to grip onto Dean's jacket as his other pulled the collar of his shirt further from his neck – as though that would allow more air into his lungs.

Dean swiftly unbuckled the bag and began to rifle through it, his movements becoming more frantic by the second.

"Where is it, Sam? It's not in the front where it's supposed to be." Dean grumbled, not appearing to expect an answer from his brother as he proceeded to search the backpack.

Sam sucked in a strangled breath, it was so desperate and agonizing that it had both Dean and I flinching at the sound of it.

Sam released the hold on his shirt-collar and began clawing at the teen.

"I know, Sam, I know. I'm working on it!" Dean answered, his voice tight and sharp, sounding like anger but it didn't deter the younger brother in the slightest.

"De."

The husky pleading croak tore at my heart, and based on the way Dean's steel expression crumbled, I knew it tore at his as well.

"Damnit! Where the fuck is it?" Dean shouted.

Normally I would have told the young man to watch his language, like I had many times over the past couple months, but at the current moment I more than understood the outburst.

After what felt like forever, but logically couldn't have been more than a dozen seconds, Dean ripped the inhaler free from the bag and swiftly tugged his little brother toward him.

He situated Sam so his back was against Dean's chest and began shaking the small medical object in his hand. Sam back arches and his head slammed into his brother's collarbone as his entire body contorted in a desperate need for oxygen.

"Alright buddy, you know the drill. Breathe out as much as you can." Dean instructed, trying to keep his brother from twisting out of his hold.

Sam nodded shakily, his hair sliding back and forth against his brother's shirt as he forced the meager amount of air from his lungs.

"Good job, kiddo. Now inhale nice and slow, as slow as you can." The soft instruction was so very different from the frustrated comments that had been coming from Dean just moments ago.

Sam nodded obediently, his fingers clenching his brother's jeans as he forced himself to breathe in slowly, even though there was no doubt that his lungs were greedy to be filled.

"Ten seconds." Dean told his brother.

We all watched in silence as Sam fumbled for his brother's free hand and began pulling his fingers back one by one; once they were all extended he began pushing them down one by one, until the ten seconds was up.

Sam then exhaled shakily. Everyone waited to see if the medicine worked, including the two zoo employees that – based on the stretcher they were carrying – must have worked as first responders.

Sam's next inhale didn't sound much better than the one before.

"De." He gasped out, clutching even more desperately at Dean's jeans as he pushed himself back against Dean, desperate for help, or comfort, or maybe just his big brother.

"C'mon Sammy, you know it almost always takes more than one hit." The older chastised softly, his one hand rubbing his brother's chest as the other shook the inhaler.

Dean's voice was steady, but I could so clearly see the agony written across his expression, and how it grew with each one of Sam's strangled gasps.

"Out." Dean ordered softly.

Sam obeyed, and they repeated the breathing/counting, agonizing process all over again. This time when Sam inhaled it sounded a little less painful.

"That's my boy. Just once more and then we should be set."

Dean's quiet praise was so unbelievably motherly I could hardly understand it. It was almost impossible to connect the brash teenage rebel with the caring, loving older brother I was witnessing now; and yet they were two parts of the same young man.

"Usually o-only ta-takes two hi-hits." Sam stuttered out in a whine.

"It usually doesn't get as bad as it did today, buddy. Just one more time for me? Okay?"

Sam didn't look pleased, but nodded nonetheless, and immediately sucked in another medicated breath. Everyone observed at Sam used his brother's fingers to count out the ten seconds, his own appendages shaking too much to rely on. Although they were quite the spectacle, the two brothers appeared to be in their own little world, paying no mind to the onlookers, but remaining so entirely absorbed in one another.

Once the ten seconds were up, Sam exhaled shakily. Dean rubbed the boy's chest, looking just as eager as the rest of us to see how well the third hit of the inhaler and worked.

Sam's next inhale was still a little wheezy, but didn't sound even remotely as agonizing as all his previous breaths.

"That's better, Sammy. Just take it slow." Dean encouraged softly, sliding the inhaler into his jacket pocket and placing his hand on his brother's chest, gently rubbing – as though he were encouraging Sam's lungs to cooperate. Dean's other hand remained trapped in his brother's grip. Sam's thin fingers were wrapped around the teen's longer ones, and his other hand was still clenching his brother's jeans right about the knee as he finally relaxed back against Dean, his body no longer fighting to survive.

"Dean."

The first coherent word the boy had spoken in quite some time and I wasn't surprised in the slightest that it was his big brother's name. It wasn't a question or a demand, just a simple sigh in a grateful tone.

"Right here, Sammy. Right here." Dean assured, his voice as reassuring as the way he patted Sam's chest.

It took a moment, but only a moment before the young boy appeared to notice all the people who were gawking down at him. I could tell the second Sam noticed the degree of attention that was focussed on him. The child's eyes grew and his cheeks coloured as he turned into his brother, hiding his face from the onlookers and curling up against Dean.

Dean quickly recognized his little brother's discomfort and understood its source, made obvious by the way he wrapped his arms tight around the thin frame, trying to hide against him. Dean hunched over his brother's small form, protecting him from prying eyes.

The two individuals who appeared to be what the zoo had to offer for medical personal, stepped into the circle that had been unintentionally created by the onlookers. One of the men crouched down next to the boys. I watched as the younger Winchester brought his legs up against him as he curled closer into his brother, Dean's arms tightening around the child in response. My mouth nearly dropped open in shock as I witnessed the teen place a quick kiss on his brother's head before resting his chin on top of Sam's shaggy hair.

I had never before seen such unabashed intimacy exhibited by a teenager, and it stole my breath away. It was clear to me that the two brother's had a connection with each other that I had never had nor seen ever before.

"What's your name?" The man asked, his eyes trained on Dean. It was clear the employee was intelligent enough to know to direct his inquiries at the older brother, rather than the frightened child he held in his arms.

"Dean." He answered gruffly, his gaze steady as he assessed the man before him.

"Hey Dean, I'm Matt. That's my friend Calvin." He stated, pointing over his shoulder to the man behind him. "We are paramedics."

Dean made no remark at the explanation, nor did he appear to become anymore trusting, his grip around his little brother remaining strong.

"You did a really nice job of handling the situation, Dean."

The teen didn't respond to the praise. There was no pride or satisfaction in his expression, but rather wariness and concern.

"This your brother?" The medic inquired, nodding down at Sam.

Dean nodded, not bothering to introduce the exhausted boy resting against his chest.

"How about we get him up off the ground and to the med center?"

I felt emotion fill me as I watched Sam clench his brothers jacket in his fingers and nuzzle impossibly closer to the teen. Dean did not miss his brother's unease.

"It's okay, Sammy. I've got you."

Dean's tone held protection and promise, and was all the younger boy seemed to require to rid of the tension that had wound up his small frame.

The medic must have been able to see the older brother's uncertainty, because he continued to plead his case.

"Sam's breathing sounds fine, but he's tired, right?" He prompted.

"Yeah, he's always pretty beat after an attack." Dean stated sympathetically, rubbing a hand up and down his brother's back.

I couldn't help but wonder how many times the brothers had been through this. How many asthma attacks little Sam had suffered, and how many times Dean was left dealing with it? Based on the scene I had witnessed, I would say Dean was a damn near expert at dealing with his kid brother's condition.

"Exactly. His body has been through a lot, and he needs some time to recover. The way I see it, it would be a lot nicer to get some rest on a comfy bed, rather than some dirt. What do you think?"

Even I could feel the distrust flowing off Dean in waves, but one quick glance at the child in his arms appeared to make up the teen's mind.

"Lead the way." He ordered gruffly, sounding far older than his fourteen years and much too authoritative.

The older man nodded, keeping a close eye on the boys as he stood.

"Alright Sammy, let's get off the ground. My butt is going numb."

"Okay." Sam whispered in agreement, a tiny smile making his lips twitch at his brother's words.

The child uncurled from Dean, but remained close. The teen stood and the, before Sam could even attempt to do the same, Dean had his hands hooked under the boy's armpits as he hoisted him to is feet.

Sam's small fingers maintained their grip on his brother's jacket, and Dean held the boy at his elbows, waiting for him to catch his balance.

My heart hurt for little Sam, who just looked so damn exhausted, his knees refusing to lock and making his legs wobble like a newborn foul. The fourth graders face coloured in embarrassment as he glanced around at the people watching him attempting to acquire his footing. I watched as tears of frustration filled his eyes and he pressed his forehead against his brother's abdomen – in an effort to hide from the on-lookers.

Dean pressed his hand against the back of his brother's head, more than willing to be the boy's physical and emotional support. He glared over at all of the prying eyes , including mine, his obvious anger enough to make many of the students turn away. I nodded at the other teachers, indicating to them that I had the boys covered and encouraging them to get back to their activities.

Mr. Hendrick's approached me, informing me that he would keep watch of my students while I went with the brothers to the med center. I nodded my appreciation and watched as the students and teachers returned to their designated areas.

Soon it was just the Winchester boys, the two medical personal, and myself left standing around.

I could see Sam shivering and found myself taking a step closer, wanting to do _something_ to put an end to the child's constant suffering. But my approach was halted by the dangerous look that was sent my way. I had never before seen such threat in a pair of eyes, not to mention from such a young person, but the look Dean Winchester threw my way, had a shiver running up my spine. The way his green orbs seared into me, the furry and warning that they held, it was downright feral.

The medics must have witnessed the exchange, because they made no effort to move closer, and Matt's voice was tremendously gentle when he spoke again.

"He had a pretty bad attack today?"

Dean's dangers look tore from me and he gazed warily at the medic.

"Yeah, worst one in a while." He rasped, his expression and tone miserable as he carded his fingers through Sam's shaggy hair.

Matt nodded at the information.

"It took a pretty big toll on him." He said.

Dean nodded, his jaw clenching.

"The med center is just down that hill, but he might have a hard time trekking over there right now, with his body still recovering. Calvin and I could help—

"I've got him." Dean interrupted, not letting the man finish his offer.

"Are you sure? We do this a lot, we'll be careful—

"I said I've got him." The teen snapped, visibly regretting his anger once Sam tensed against him.

Matt nodded, clearly wise enough not to elicit the aggression we could all see just barely under the surface.

I had experience with an angry Dean Winchester, I had been the cause of a great deal of his frustration for the past couple months, but the anger the teen expressed when someone tried so much as to get _near_ his kid brother – that was an anger that I feared had no limits, a rage I had never imagined could be possessed by any teenager.

"Just give us a minute."

The words sounded like a request, but the tone was nothing but demanding.

Matt nodded, him and Calvin both taking a couple steps back, I made an effort not to move a muscle as I kept an eye on the boys.

Dean gently patted his brother back, before placing his hands on Sam's narrow shoulders and pushing him back a step.

The younger boy released a miserable sniff as he stared up at his brother.

Dean kept his words soft, soft enough that even I couldn't hear them. They were words meant only for Sam, and as curious as I was, I felt it best to respect that. I even tried to tear my eyes away from the two brothers, which worked okay until I registered movement in their direction.

Dean shrugged out of that jacket he wore so obsessively, and slid it onto his brother. I had thought the coat had been large on the teen, but it was absolutely massive on Sam, making him appear that much smaller and more vulnerable. The boy's hands couldn't be seen as the sleeves went far past the small limbs, and the jacket hung down to Sam's knobby little knees – but it put an end to the small shivers that had been coursing through his frame for the past several minutes. Dean continued to speak softly to the younger boy before crouching down in front of him. I was confused as to why the teen had his back to his brother, but Sam clearly understood, because he immediately rested up against his brother, bringing his sleeve-draped arms up and over Dean's broad shoulders. Dean hooked his arms under Sam's knees and came to a stand – it was all done so simply and gracefully that I knew it was a process that had occurred on numerous occasions.

"You good?" Dean inquired, looking over his shoulder.

Sam nodded his head up and down against his brother's back, before resting his cheek on Dean's shoulder, releasing a tired sigh.

"Alright, let's go." Dean barked impatiently, staring expectantly at the two medics.

We all marched toward the med center; Matt and Calvin leading the way, Dean following as he piggy-backed his little brother, and me bringing up the rear.

Sam kept one arm around his brother, but as we travelled, his other came down and the kid began to drag his finger over his brother's shoulder-blade. It looked as though he were tracing patterns into his brother's shirt. I found myself smiling at the younger boy's antics; the way he would nuzzle against his older brother and turtle into the leather jacket.

I understood why Dean was so protective of the child. He was so small and so vulnerable, but more than that, he was just so damn precious.

The men lead us all into the building that appeared to be the zoo's permanent first-aid location. It had several beds, one of which was occupied by a little girl with scraped knees. There were a few other medical personnel as well as basic medical supplies. We were taken to the back of the room, to a bed in the corner. Matt and Calvin stepped back, wisely not interfering with Dean as he gently placed Sam on the edge of the mattress.

The two medics then performed a few tests on the young boy, Dean stood, his body stiff with tension and his fists clenching and twitching every time one of the men touched his little brother.

Once Sam was declared healthy, besides his body's obvious exhaustion, Dean helped him to lie down on the bed.

"You can rest here as long as you need to, Sam. And take it easy for the next couple days alright? Your body needs some time to recuperate." Calvin declared.

Both brothers nodded their understanding.

"Anything else you boys need before we head out? Need us to call anyone?" Matt questioned.

Sam's eyes went to his brother who was standing next to his bed. Dean shook his head.

"No."

My eyebrows rose at the answer. Dean must have noticed, because he continued.

"Our Dad's working so he would be hard to reach anyways. Besides, I've got everything taken care of."

The two men nodded before making their exit, leaving me to stand around awkwardly. Not that Sam even noticed my existence, his eyes trained intently on his older brother, even as they began to droop shut.

"How you doing, Sammy?" Dean asked quietly, leaning over the younger kid and gently smoothing the unruly bangs off his forehead.

"I'm okay." The boy rasped.

Dean frowned.

"Sam."

It was so parental, the tone Dean used, loving and condemning all at once.

Like most kids tend to do when they hear their parents sound that way, Sam cracked.

"My chest hurts a little, and I'm tired."

Dean nodded, finding nothing alarming in the information, I could only assume that was normal for experiencing an asthma attack as severe as the one Sam had.

"How about you get some sleep then, buddy." Dean encouraged, continuing to soothingly card his fingers through the brown shaggy hair.

Sam didn't look the least bit pleased with the idea and apparently Dean knew why.

"I know you were excited to come to the zoo, Sam. But we saw most of it, and we both know you're too exhausted to do anymore touring." It was said with sympathy, but also definitively; it was clear there would be no bickering on the matter.

"I know." Sam huffed, pouting in misery.

Dean breathed out a small chuckle, I assumed it was at the petulant look that had dawned his brother's face, because I also found it to be rather amusing.

"Don't worry, buddy. I'll make it up to you." Dean promised, kindly patting his little brother's chest.

Sam frowned, appearing impossibly more miserable as he stared up at Dean.

"But who's going to make it up to you?" He questioned, sounding absolutely sorrowful.

Dean frowned, as did I, neither of us comprehending the child's comment.

"What are you going on about, little man?"

I couldn't get over the tone of Dean's voice, how gentle and caring it was, how much love was laced in it. It was a voice I had never heard come from a teenager, and one I had never witnessed come out of a brother. The only thing I could think to relate it to, was the way a mother spoke to her child; that soothing, reassuring way that brought any kid comfort and protection.

I was torn from my inner ramblings at the sight of Sam's eyes filling up, the kid could break any heart – not matter how cold – with that sad puppy expression.

I wanted, more than anything, to put an end to the little boy's despair, and it would seem Dean felt the same.

"Hey, whoah. None of that." He instructed, wiping the escaped tears away with his thumb.

"What's going on, Sammy?" Dean continued, ducking even closer to the younger child, sufficiently blocking him from my sight, which may have been the purpose of the maneuver – that, or Dean just needed to be closer to the kid.

"You worked so hard at the store so that we could come on the trip and now I'm wrecking it." Sam sobbed.

I couldn't even see him, but the sound of his voice and the pitiful sniffle was enough to have my heart shattering for the poor kid.

"Hey, no, Sam! You didn't wreck anything—

"I did! My stupid asthma wrecked _everything_! And now you can't see the rest of the zoo even after you paid all that money for it! I'm so sorry, Dean!"

I felt a lump enter my throat as I watched Dean's vehemently shaking head move back and forth as he reached forward and pulled the nearly hysterical Sam into his arms.

"Stop it, Sam. You know none of that is true, buddy. None if it is your fault!" Dean declared, rubbing up and down his brother's back, as Sam buried his face into the space between the teen's neck and shoulder.

"Sshh. It's okay, kiddo. That's it, you're fine." Dean reassured, sounding as grateful as I was that the child's cries were fading away.

Dean granted his little brother a few more moments to regain his composer, before gently pulling him back, placing one hand on his shoulder and sliding the other one under his hair, onto the back of his neck.

"I want you to listen to me, Sam." He ordered, with a gentle sternness; that sounded both foreign and so incredibly fitting coming out of him.

As I expected he would, Sam nodded and stared intently at his big brother.

"None of this is your fault, Sammy. And I mean _none_ of it." Dean declared in complete confidence.

"But your job—

"I would have had to get a job anyways, dude, for – stuff."

The stunted way Dean spoke, I could tell he was censoring himself and could only assume that it was due to my presence.

"Besides, it's bagging groceries. I'm fourteen, I think I can handle it. So would you just stop worrying and stop feeling guilty for stupid shit that's not your fault."

I found myself amazed at the way Dean could simultaneously be so incredibly motherly and brotherly. He could come across as both a nonchalant, cursing teenager and a concerned, caring parent. I was having a hard time connecting the two, and yet it all seemed to come so naturally to the young man.

"Please."

I squinted my eyes, the word sounded almost pleading, and I could tell it wasn't something Dean said often.

"Okay, Dean." Sam responded, sounding partially reluctant, but clearly eager to please his big brother.

"Good, now how about you get some rest now, huh?" The teen requested.

Dean moved back to tug off his little brother's runners, which finally gave me a clear view of Sam's face.

There were drying tear tracks on his cheeks, and the kid looked completely worn out, but the presence of gratefulness and sheer adoration were just as apparent. I could see the love shining through Sam's eyes as he gazed up at his brother. I wondered if Dean could see it to, I wondered if he knew just how much his kid brother adored him.

Dean dropped Sam's shoes on the floor and tugged the blanket up over his small frame, which got impossibly smaller when the child curled up onto his side.

My heart ached for the young teenager, and the amount of responsibility that he was forced to carry. I could tell by the way he was with his little brother, by how instinctively he considered the child's every need, that Dean had grown accustomed to caring for the young boy. It had been clear just by looking at the clothes the brothers wore, that their family was not well-off financially speaking. The way Sam's sweater and jeans draped off his skinny body made it obvious that they must have been hand-me-downs. Dean's clothes fit him much better, but his shoes were worn nearly straight through and his pants were just a tad too short and had holes in the knees. The only thing he wore that didn't look as though it came from a second-hand store, was a strange little necklace that he never removed.

It was clear that the twenty dollar per student fee would have been an expensive luxury for the Winchester family.

And it was a damn shame that Dean was going to miss out on the rest of the experience, especially after he had acquired a job to pay for it.

Perhaps I could do something about that.

"Dean, could I speak with you a moment?"

The glare I received after making such a simple request, was nothing but vicious. I physically stepped back, shocked by the fierce emotion in the vibrant green eyes.

Dean stood from the chair with an aggravated sigh, as though it were not already more than evident from his stare that he resented have to leave his little brother's side.

"I'll be right back, Sam. I'm only a couple feet away. Alright?"

The shaggy head moved up and down in agreeance, and I had a feeling that if Sam had made the least bit of a protest, Dean would not have moved an inch no matter what I said.

"What?" He asked standing in front of me, complete teenage attitude and indignant irritation, as though the gentle care-giver had dissipated completely in the two foot journey.

"How about you go back and join your classmates, while I stay here with Sam?"

The way Dean looked at me, you would think I just told him to grow a second head.

"Hell, no. I'm not leaving him!" He declared in a harsh whisper. I had a feeling that if he hadn't been trying to keep Sam from the conversation, his voice would have had a lot more volume to it.

"He will be sleeping the entire time, Dean. I hardly think he needs supervision from the both of us. He probably won't even notice you're gone."

Those were the wrong words.

The shocked stare morphed quickly into a death glare.

"It's not about whether or not Sam would notice, although he damn well would. It's about the fact that he is my kid brother and I am _not_ leaving him!" The teen snapped, his tone still hushed but his body rigid with defiance.

Part of me wanted to tell the teen to calm down and watch his tone, but the other part just wanted to relieve the young man of the immense weight he was forced to carry.

"Dean, I know that you are used to looking after your brother. But you heard the medics, Sam is fine. I can watch him sleep just as easy as you can. And that way you get to go explore the rest of the zoo with your friends." I thought it to be a generous offer, and one that any teen would jump on – even those rare few that like their younger siblings – but not Dean.

"I don't care about the zoo. I'm staying with Sam." He stated.

"But you don't have to." I pointed out, trying to encourage the kid to go have a good time, but he wasn't having it.

"Yes I do! It's my fault he's in that fucking bed, and that he has fucking asthma, and he's _my_ little brother and I'm _not_ leaving him!" He seethed, his body shaking as his vibrant green eyes seared into me.

I was about to tell him to watch his language, but decided to address another matter first.

"It's not your fault. You came as soon as you could and helped Sam with his inhaler. And the asthma is not anyone's fault. It is a medical condition, it can't be helped."

Dean was shaking his head before I even finished speaking.

"You don't understand, it is my fault! I left him! And he didn't have asthma until after the shtriga, it's all my fault! And even if it wasn't, he's _my_ kid brother and I am going to stay with him!"

Before I could reprimand Dean for his language, or correct him on the origins of asthma, or inquire about what the hell a 'shtriga' was, he had turned his back to me and marched back to his brother's bedside.

I hadn't the slightest idea what to do but stare at the brothers in stunned silence.

"Everything okay, Dean?" Sam rasped softly, forcing his eyes open to blink up at Dean.

Dean tugged a chair closer to the side of the bed and sat into it, his face nearly level with Sam's as he reached out and slid his fingers through the chestnut mane.

"Yeah, buddy, everything's good. I thought I told you to get some sleep." Dean scolded, entirely unable to keep the fond smile from his face.

"Just mak'n sure you're okay." Sam slurred, as he clumsily reached out and latched onto his brother's sleeve.

It was then that I realized perhaps Dean wasn't the only one who looked after his brother, but maybe Sam returned the favor – in the best way that a child of only ten years could.

Dean's smile grew as he gave a rueful shake of his head, but I could see the love pouring from his soft expression.

Damn, these two boys loved each other more than any siblings, or any family, I had ever come in contact with in all my years of teaching.

"I've fine, little brother. Now close your eyes and get some rest. I'll be right here if you need me."

Sam tugged on his brother's shirt-sleeve until Dean slipped his hand into Sam's open palm. The smaller fingers curled around the bigger hand.

"Thanks, De." Sam sighed, sounding like the sweet child that he appeared to be, curled up as close to his brother as he could get, with his brown shaggy hair all askew.

"Anytime, Sammy." Dean replied, his voice husky with emotion as his once hand clenched Sam's, and his other one gently rubbed back and forth across the small chest.

Simply watching the two brothers interact made me feel as though I was intruding on their privacy, but it was far too captivating for me to turn away from.

Dean didn't move.

Not when Sam dropped off to sleep.

Not when I pulled a chair into the corner and took a seat.

Not when Matt returned to check on the boys.

Dean stayed seated right next to his brother, clinging onto his hand. He refused to remove his eyes from the child's young face, except to assess anyone who approached, being sure they weren't a threat and then returning his gaze to Sam. His hand didn't leave his brother's, not even when Matt had to maneuver around Dean to examine the younger boy's breathing.

Dean never uttered a word to anyone, except for the soft broken phrase I overheard him whisper to the sleeping child.

"I haven't been doing my job very well lately, have I kiddo?" He asked, his finger lightly tracing over the bruise that coloured Sam's jawline. "I'm so sorry, Sammy. I'm so fucking sorry, kiddo."

I had to swallow past the lump in my throat as I noticed two tears slide their way down Dean's cheeks. He didn't even bother to wipe them away, instead returned to gently carding his fingers through his brother's hair.

I didn't understand what had the teen so upset, and I didn't understand what he was apologizing for. I had a feeling those would only be a couple of the things I would never comprehend about the Winchester brothers.

When it was time to head back to the school, Dean refused any and all offers of help, and carried his brother back to the bus. He turned down his friend's offers, and elected to sit next to Sam. He made the child's face light up with laughter, even though he was obviously embarrassed at having an attack in front of his peers. And when Sam's head began to bob and his eyes grew heavy, Dean didn't waste a moment in pulling the small frame into his side and letting the shaggy head fall to rest against his chest.

"Isn't he incredible with Sam?"

I glanced to my right at Allen, seeing him nod ahead at the two brothers I had been observing so closely.

"Ever since the first day of school, Dean walks him to my class every morning, and comes and picks him up again after school."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, finally understanding the reason behind the teenager's late arrival and eager departure.

"Sam is one of those quiet kids, you know? Sweet and smart as a whip, but doesn't talk much and rarely ever cracks a smile; but at the end of every day he waits in the doorway, and the second he spots his big brother, the kid lights up like a Christmas tree. Every time. And if I listen, I can hear Sam nattering away to Dean all the way down the hall, talking a mile a minute and telling him everything he learned that day. And Dean never seems to get annoyed by it. He smiles when he drops Sam off and picks him up, and he carries the kid's backpack and then listens to him ramble on. Those two are the closest siblings I've ever seen."

I absorbed all of Allen's comments. If he had told me the same things on the way to the zoo, I wouldn't have believed a word of it. I had my mind made up about Dean Winchester from the beginning. But after spending a day watching the brothers interact with one another, watching little Sam staring with such trust and adoration at the older boy, and watching Dean being so patient, caring, and protective of the shaggy-haired child – well after that, all of Allen's words made complete sense.

I had been wrong about Dean Winchester.

Although the teenager had unmistakable authority issues, the mouth of a sailor, and was far too cocky; he was also the best big brother I had ever seen. He was caring and motherly to a child only four years his junior, he was perceptive of the boy's needs and more fiercely protective than any parent I had ever been acquainted with. He was selfless and loving.

After more than two decades of teaching, I thought I had seen it all, I thought I knew it all.

But Dean Winchester taught an old dog a new trick. He did it unintentionally, but it happened all the same.

After that day, I never again labeled any student as a bad egg, for the sole reason that it had been proved to me that it was possible for them to have another side. Even teenagers could be complex, and should not be judged on the behaviour they exhibited in the classroom.

But even with the changes I have made, I have never met another Sam or Dean Winchester.

And I don't imagine I ever will.

Those two brothers were as special as they come.

They shared a connection unlike any I have ever witnessed.

They are two of a kind.

And I pity anyone who ever tries to get between them.

There are some connections that the world has no right to sever.

 **The End**

* * *

Note: I'm not sure about this one, I would love to know what you think! Thanks for reading! - Sam


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